


Where You Belong

by buckysbears (DrZebra)



Series: Let Us Love [10]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Zoo, adoption au, childhood AU, mama may
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 12:09:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12581588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrZebra/pseuds/buckysbears
Summary: Phil said not to do anything big for their first weekend together--go out for ice cream, play a board game. Get to know each other.But the zoo is a good place to get to know each other, right?(Last of the adoption au, can be read as a standalone)





	Where You Belong

**Author's Note:**

> okay ... i know i said there would be another fic before this one, but i've been super busy with work and school and figured that if i kept writing these i would just never stop. and i really like closure, and felt like it was time for me (after a year and a half of writing this series!) to have a little closure
> 
> so, without further ado, i present ......... the last installment of the adoption au 
> 
> (disclaimer: i've never actually been to the little rock zoo?? i have no idea if any of this is accurate i just downloaded their map)

Things are awkward already. May isn’t sure what she expected.

The kids are looking at the map in the backseat of the brand-new minivan (only 60,000 miles from the previous owner) which she had bought in preparation for the children’s arrival. Because that’s what new parents did, right? They bought a minivan. Parenting was all about sacrifices (at least according to Phil), but parting with her well-worn Jeep had still been a sour event. This van doesn’t smell like her Jeep, and the steering wheel doesn’t feel right under her hands. The gear shift isn’t even in the same place. Everything is different, and she fits into it differently, but she knows that this is one infinitesimally small change compared to the others she’ll have to get used to now.

At least she won’t have to take them back-to-school shopping anytime soon. It’s late July, the four of them won’t have to go back for another month. Skye, the youngest, will be going into 1st grade, and May imagines she’s nervous about the change. She seems so far to be a nervous kid in general—but then again, they all do. Phil says they just need time to settle. It’s only their first week together, after all.

And this is their first weekend. It’s not as marked an event as it would have been had it been the school year, when weekends are sacred causes of celebration (at least in May’s memory). But still, it seems important. It felt like they should do something about it. Phil said not to do anything big—take them out for ice cream, play a board game. Get to know each other. But maybe, not that she would admit it to anyone, May is just as nervous as they are. After all, she has no idea what she’s doing. She’s never even read a book on parenting, for God’s sake. And she doesn’t think watching the Dr. Phil segments on Oprah every Tuesday while she folds laundry counts.

So, here they are. Making the 45-minute drive to Little Rock, the car painfully quiet. She’s keenly aware that she hasn’t spoken since they left the house, but she honestly doesn’t know what to say. She doesn’t know how to talk to kids. The most she ever had to was if there was a kid involved in a case when she worked at the station, but she’d usually hand them off to Sharon, who is soothing and patient and all the things May isn’t.

She doesn’t ask them if they’re excited, because the answer might be “no”, and then they’d be put in a position to have to lie for her benefit, and she doesn’t want to start the trip like that. So she’s silent, wringing the awkward steering wheel beneath her palms. She just doesn’t want to mess this up. Not so soon. But she has a feeling that somehow, she already has.

The silence is broken by a muffled huff of laughter, and then Skye leans over the side of her car seat to tap on the map Antoine is holding in his hands.

“Hey, what’s that say?” she asks, with barely contained mirth.

Antoine starts to smile a little, but stops when he meets May’s curious gaze in the rear-view mirror. “Skye,” he says, bordering on firm.

“What’s it say?” she nudges again.

“Somali wild ass.”

Skye slaps her hands to her mouth to stifle her laughter, but still, the noise rolls through the otherwise quiet van. May has never been more grateful for a sound.

“Skye,” Jemma chastises gently, “don’t be childish. It’s just a donkey.”

“What about that one?” Skye asks, pointing again.

“Dik dik,” Antoine says softly, a grin spreading across his face.

Skye erupts into laughter, almost inappropriately loud, loud enough that she probably got in trouble for it at some of her previous families. But the pure delight of it brings a smile to May’s face, albeit a small one.

“Skye,” Jemma hisses, shooting a nervous look towards the front of the car.

Skye immediately sobers, and May’s smile drops.

So, sure, May can be quiet. She can be gruff, bordering on cold. She can be withdrawn. But she’s tried so hard to be open and kind since the kids have been with her. Obviously she hasn’t been trying hard enough. Not if they’re afraid of her like this. Phil warned her it would happen, but she still feels like she’s done something wrong.

Hopefully the zoo will change things. They’ll all be out of their element and on even ground; that’s always when people show their true colors. Maybe they can see that she’s not so scary after all. They’ll eat too much junk food, and coo over animals, and at the end she’ll buy them souvenirs. It’ll be a good day. A good start to their relationship.

“We’re almost there,” is what she says.

The car is quiet once more. Jemma returns to studying her map (though May is sure she’s memorized it by now), Antoine plays a finger-tapping game with Skye, and Fitz, from what she can see in the seat behind hers, continues to stare glumly out the window. He hasn’t spoken since they got in the car. He hasn’t spoken since they got in the car when May picked them up from Phil’s four days ago.

After a few minutes, Jemma clears her throat. “They have quite a few primates, Fitz,” she says softly.

May isn’t sure if Fitz looks over at her or not, as she’s watching closely for their exit.

Jemma continues, “If we go clockwise through the zoo, we’ll see them first and last before we exit. We’ll start with the lemurs and the greater apes, and end with the gibbons, seeing the other animals in between.”

Fitz doesn’t respond, but there’s a rustle like she’s handing over the map. May almost misses Exit 4 trying to catch his expression, but turns off at the last moment.

“We have to start with the carousel!” Skye cries.

“We can ride the carousel at the mall,” Antoine reminds her.

“And it probably costs extra,” Jemma says.

May cuts in with a “We can start with the carousel,” just as Skye’s lip starts to wobble.

Skye grins, relaxing back into her car seat.

May turns onto the aptly named Zoo Drive and squints from behind her aviators as she starts scoping out a free spot. It’s busy, but she expected no less from a Summer Saturday morning, just after 10. She finds a spot in the “E for Elephant” row near the back, and she has to remember that the dimensions of the van are different than her old Jeep as she carefully pulls into the spot.

[“E for Elephant,” May says, unbuckling her seatbelt and grabbing her cane from Antoine in the front seat. Skye nods, tugging half-heartedly on the sticky door of the old van. “Yeah, yeah,” she says, “E for Elephant. You always park in E for Elephant. Not hard to remember.”]

Antoine helps get Skye unbuckled, then they’re all piling out of the car. May grabs her cane from the front seat as she steps out. Even if she doesn’t feel like she needs it at first, she’ll regret not using it tomorrow. She’s all about preventative measures.

She leans the cane on the side of the blue van as she opens the back to get her backpack. It’s filled with snacks, bottles of water, jackets (“Always bring a jacket. I’m serious. You never know when they’re going to get cold,” to quote Phil), extra money, sunscreen (though they’d applied it before leaving the house), and other small supplies. She brought everything she could think of, but she still feels like she forgot something.

As soon as they get to the main entrance, Skye dashes. May is about to shout after her, but Jemma beats her to the punch.

“Skye!” she shouts, authoritative.

Skye stops in her tracks.

“Don’t run off, you have to stick with the group.” Jemma marches forward and snags Skye’s hand. “You always stay in sight of one of us, okay? You can’t go off by yourself.”

Skye deflates, looking at the ground. “Yeah,” she mumbles. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, Skye,” May says, trying to ease the tension that’s floating between them. “I know you’re excited. We just don’t want you getting lost.”

Skye nods, and then raises her thumb to her mouth, tracing her bottom lip with it like she wants to desperately wants to suck on it, but has been told not to. Antoine comes up on the other side of her and takes that hand, slipping his fingers between her own and pulling both the girls forward.

They get their tickets without further incident and make their way inside the grounds. The carousel is on their left, and Skye carefully contains herself as they approach it, though she does perk up at the sight.

May forks over the two dollars each for them to ride, and the three linked children make their way past the gate to find spots on the painted horses.

[“You _have_ to ride, Mum,” Jemma says, tugging her hand. “I want to get a picture.”

May shakes her head. “I’m not getting on that thing. Who knows how long it’s been since it’s been serviced.”

Antoine snorts. “What’s it going to do? Go hyperspeed and fling you off?”

Fitz does nothing to hide his snickering at May’s grumble. “Come on, Mum, you can have the palomino.”]

Antoine is the one to notice the missing member just as May does.

“Hey, Fitz,” he calls from the other side of the short fence. “Aren’t you going to ride with us?”

All their heads turn towards the young, curly-haired boy, who’s standing a little behind May. He shrugs, and then shakes his head.

“It might be fun,” May tells him, but he doesn’t look up at her.

“Fitz,” Jemma says, in a tone that’s parts fond and parts stern. “Come sit by me. You can have the palomino.”

For a moment Fitz doesn’t move, so May whispers, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” but by the time she’s finished the sentence he’s making his way sluggishly through the gate, pulling himself onto the palomino horse. He doesn’t look happy about it, but May’s not sure she’s seen him look happy about anything so far.

As the ride starts up, May pulls out the disposable camera she’d bought for the occasion. She should probably invest in a real camera, but she’s never been the photo-taking type. She’d rather let the moments happen and pass as they naturally do. But you’re supposed to take photos when you have kids, so they have something to look back on when they’re grown. Something to remember the formative years by. Fury had taken pictures of them all, May is sure, but they probably don’t have any photos of their younger years. So, this is a small way she can give them something to hold on to.

The camera is poised to get a snapshot as they come around to face her, and she gets a good shot of all four of the kids, and the horses, and the painted, mirrored background of the carousel. It’s not until they come around again, and then a third time, that she notices. The other children riding look to their parents every time they’re in sight, waving and smiling at them, wanting them to share in the excitement. But her kids don’t look towards her, not once as the carousel goes around and around and eventually comes to a stop. They were only looking at each other. May’s not sure what to make of that.

She tries her best to give them a kind smile as they make their way back towards her, but they’re paying more attention to Jemma, who’s already pulling out the map again and shaking it straight.

“Where to?” Antoine asks, lightly swinging Skye’s hand.

“This way,” Jemma says, and starts to lead them off.

May follows, making sure to keep them all in her sights as they push through the crowds of people and towards the lemurs. Skye doesn’t run off, but that might be because of Antoine holding her hand. Jemma navigates masterfully through the crowd despite the map held in front of her face.

Fitz does jump ahead a bit as they approach the lemur enclosure, but it’s just to run up to the fence. The lemur exhibit is separated from them by a little pond, the lemurs proudly displayed on their own island. According to the sign, there are ring-tailed lemurs and sifakas on the island.

“Look!” Skye shouts, pointing. “It’s Zoboomafoo!”

“A what?” May asks, sure the child was speaking gibberish.

“It’s a show,” Antoine explains, smiling. “The main character, Zoboomafoo, is a lemur like that.”

“Ah.”

“Oh, aren’t they darling?” Jemma says, coming to stand next to Fitz, who has his arms propped up on the railing and his cheek resting on his arms.

Fitz nods. When May comes to the other side of him, she can see he has a wistful expression, looking more alert than he usually does.

Skye grumbles, squatting and looking between the slats of the fence. “I can’t see.” She stretches up on her tiptoes, but she can’t see over the top rail either.

May is about to offer to pick her up when Antoine squats, and, with a groan of effort, picks her up so she can see over the railing.

“Yay!” Skye says.

“You’re getting so big,” Antoine strains out, shifting so he can prop his knee under her.

“Am not,” Skye shoots back, “you’re just still small.”

Jemma snickers at the interaction, and nudges Fitz, who gives them a glance, but otherwise doesn’t acknowledge it, too enraptured with the sunbathing lemurs.

May’s never been one for zoos—she finds them a little sad, frankly, with the small enclosures and often bored-looking animals. There’s a sense of helplessness about them, a certain claustrophobia that May can’t help but find herself relating to. She knows they’re good from a conservation standpoint, and that they educate the general public, but she’s seen her own expression reflected in the eyes of enough pacing tigers that she feels uneasy about the whole thing. May puts a lot of value in being able to make your own decisions, and that’s something that zoo animals just don’t get. There’s a lack of freedom that pulls at May’s heartstrings.

And maybe that’s what she saw in the kids that day at Fury’s funeral, why she decided to take them in. Four children, trapped by circumstance, captives in whatever home they had no say in going into. She knows not all of their homes were bad, Phil had done his best at giving them the best life he could since he took over their cases, but they still all lacked the freedom of choice that every kid should have, the freedom to be themselves and know that they’ll still have somewhere safe to go at the end of the day.

May doesn’t think that she rescued them from the system. She doesn’t think of herself as a savior. She knows that she’s just giving them a place to stay, and a steady hand, and, ideally, they’ll save themselves.

Whether the children see their own plight reflected in the eyes of the animals, May can’t tell. None of them say anything to that effect. They merely watch, and are eventually shuffled away by the noisy and demanding crowd.

The next exhibits, the greater apes, are up an incline, and May can feel her hip start to burn as they traverse up the small hill. She’s not worn out by the time they make it to the gorilla statue before the exhibits, but her breath comes a little harder than usual. She admits she’s become a little out of shape since she retired.

They stop to take a photo with the statue, and May pauses with her eye to the view finder. Antoine and Skye are beaming, Fitz at least has a neutral expression, and Jemma is smiling as well, but it looks … strained. May snaps the photo anyway, and she shoots a small smile at Jemma as she puts the camera away. Jemma gives back a smile of her own in acknowledgement, equally as strained as before, and looks away.

They make it to the top of the hill, and May’s breath comes a little harder. Skye cries in delight as the gorillas come into view, dragging Antoine up to the glass to get a closer look. May follows them, and then stops when she realizes Fitz and Jemma haven’t run ahead as well.

After a brief moment of panic when a large man is blocking her view, May spots them a little ways behind. They’re stopped in the middle of the walkway, Jemma with her mouth hung open, staring hard at the floor, and Fitz with a death-grip on her arm. May starts on a quick pace to get back to them, but Fitz runs up and meets her halfway.

“Sh-She needs her- um—” Fitz’s mouth gapes, and in her worry, May almost misses the fact that this is the first time he’s spoken to her. His hand flaps by his side as he thinks. “She n-needs her- her- um- her p-puff—” He brings his hand up to his mouth and wiggles his index finger.

May’s head whips up to study Jemma just as she hears a raspy gasp come from the girl. “Her inhaler?” she asks urgently, but she’s already slinging off the backpack.

Fitz nods, and she unzips the side pocket and has it in his hand in lightning speed. Fitz dashes back towards Jemma and pushes it at the girl.

After fumbling for the inhaler, Jemma finally brings it up to her mouth, breathing it in desperately. May moves and squats in front of her as she tries to get her breathing under control. Fitz puts a steadying hand between her shoulder blades.

She looks like she’s trying to talk, so May reaches out and puts a hand on her arm, which immediately stops her.

“Don’t try to talk just yet,” May says. “Just breathe. Take your time.”

From this close, May can see the gathering of tears in the girl’s eyes.

It takes a few minutes for Jemma to breathe easier, and in that time, May keeps looking back for the other two kids, but they’re happily watching the gorillas, none-the-wiser about what’s happening. Fitz stands close to Jemma, rubbing her back, the other hand on her arm.

“I’m sorry,” Jemma eventually manages, and May looks back at her. Her tears haven’t fallen, but they’re swimming above her lashes, ready to drop at a moment’s notice.

May’s brows scrunch in confusion. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” she says.

Jemma shakes her head, lip wobbling, and Fitz pushes closer.

“Jem …” he mumbles.

Jemma sniffles, wiping her eyes on her arm, smudging her cheeks with wetness.

“I’m serious, Jemma,” May says, voice low but honest. “It’s not a big deal. You just needed your inhaler. That’s nothing to apologize for.”

“I- I—” Jemma turns her head to her shoulder so she can wipe her cheeks with her sleeve. “I don’t mean to be a bother.”

“You’re not, Jemma,” May says. “You never are, okay?”

The girl doesn’t look like she believes her, but they’re interrupted by Skye’s voice, excitedly shouting, “Fitz, look! A baby!” and then, “Fitz?” as she realizes the boy isn’t beside her.

Fitz doesn’t even look away, just continues watching Jemma, who’s watching the ground.

“Why don’t you keep your inhaler in your pocket so you’ll have it if you need it again, okay?” May suggests.

Jemma nods, sniffling.

And then Skye and Antoine are beside them, looking nervous.

“Jemma, are you okay?” Antoine asks.

“She just needed her inhaler,” May says.

Their two faces immediately sober, though May isn’t sure what she said to warrant the reaction.

“There’s a really cute baby gorilla,” Skye says softly, reaching forward to grasp onto Jemma’s t-shirt. “Do you want to come look at it with me?”

Jemma tries for a smile, and nods again.

Fitz slips his hand into hers as the three of them make their way back to the glass of the gorilla enclosure.

Antoine stays by May as she hauls herself up with her cane and puts the backpack back on, watching the back of Jemma’s head.

“One of her old foster dads,” he says quietly, almost too quiet to hear over the noise of the crowd, “he would make a big deal whenever she needed to use it. Like it was her fault or something. Like she was making it up.”

May holds in a sigh, and nods. “Thank you for telling me.”

They approach the others, and for a while they all watch the gorillas, and then go across the walkway to see the chimpanzees. Fitz directs Jemma over to the board of facts by the exhibit, and she reads it aloud to Skye, which seems to take her mind off things. Skye asks questions, and Jemma slowly finds her footing again and is studying the map with bright eyes by the time they’re done.

[“They added orangutans,” May states dryly, staring into the enclosure. “That’s why you brought me here. You don’t care about my 50th, you just wanted to see the orangutans.”

Fitz gapes. “I- I- Well—”

“It _was_ his idea,” Skye says, glaring suspiciously.

“Fitz!” Jemma admonishes. “I thought this was meant to be a cyclical outing—showing how far we’d come. I didn’t know you had selfish intentions.”

“I- I didn’t- I thought—”

Antoine just laughs, clapping him a little too hard on the back.]

They walk further into the zoo, to the large pond that houses the water fowl. Fitz screws up his nose at the sight of a family of swans.

“Afraid of the birds?” Antoine teases, grinning.

“Birds can be very scary,” Jemma defends. “A bite from a mute swan’s beak can hurt a lot. They tend to be very aggressive and territorial, especially if they have chicks.”

“Mmm,” Antoine hums, “but I bet they’re not as scary as … a _dragon_!” He raises his arms and forms his hands into claws, swiping and growling and clacking his teeth.

Skye bursts into giggles, clapping her hands. “Yeah, Jemma! I bet swans can’t breathe fire! Or fly!”

Jemma snorts. “Of course swans can fly.”

“Oh,” Skye says. “Well … they don’t … capture princesses and hold them captive in towers!”

Fitz snickers, and Jemma rolls her eyes. “No, they certainly don’t do that.”

“Can we feed the fish?” Antoine asks, turning back to May.

“Just wash your hands afterwards,” she says.

May looks on fondly as the children sprinkle pellets of fish food into the pond, laughing as the large goldfish gulp up the food, thrashing about on the top of the water.

They stop for funnel cakes, and eat them as they ride the train, which circles the pond, all of the children listening intently as the train driver lists facts about the various zoo animals. May is glad that she brought wet wipes, because all of the children’s hands are sticky after their treat.

Their next stop is the prairie dogs, which all the kids are enamored by, and then the farm animals. May tells them she’ll be waiting for them at the bench facing the goats as they look at the donkeys and the sheep, needing a rest for her hip and her ears. After the kids have had enough, they make their way into the petting zoo. May is just about to get up to take a picture of them with the pygmy goats when she hears a shout of, “That’s not fair!”

She quickly makes her way over to the fence. Skye’s face is red, and she’s struggling against Jemma’s grip on her arm.

“Let her go,” Antoine says, and Jemma quickly does. Skye staggers back, rubbing her cheeks where tears have begun to drip down.

“What’s going on?” May asks.

Antoine puts his hands on Skye’s shoulders and bends down to quietly talk to her.

Jemma flounders as Fitz crosses his arms, gritting out, “J-Jem thinks sh-she has to control _every-everything_.”  

“I wasn’t!” Jemma says, cheeks flushing. “I- I didn’t, I—”

“From the top,” May says.

Jemma is looking increasingly nervous under May’s gaze and Fitz’s glare. “Skye wanted to pet the brown goat, but I told her not to.”

“You t-told her _no_ , and you gr-grabbed her- her- um- her arm.”

“Why did you do that, Jemma?” May asks.

“B-Because she’s a- a _control freak_.”

“I am not!” Jemma shouts, hands balling to fists.

“Hey,” Antoine says, gathering Skye into his chest, who’s shaking softly. “Guys, calm down, you’re scaring her.”

“Excuse me, ma’am,” says the employee in charge of the petting zoo, “you’ll have to get your kids to quiet down, or I’ll ask you to leave the area.”

May gives a placating smile. “Sorry. Kids, come on, let’s go.”

“No!” Skye cries, pulling away from Antoine, “I want to pet the goats!”

May holds in a sigh. “Okay, Skye, pet the goats—Jemma, come with me. Kids, stay here, don’t make any trouble.”

“We won’t,” Antoine says.

Jemma slumps out of the petting zoo and follows May back to the bench, thumbs wringing over her fists. They sit, and for a moment there’s silence, both of them staring at the Arkansas Heritage Farm Petting Zoo sign.

[“They’re dirty,” May says, staring down into the crooked eye of a salt-and-pepper pygmy goat.

“That’s why they have a handwashing station,” Skye says, taking a selfie with a goat standing on a rock.

“No, I concur, goats are filthy animals,” Jemma says, nose scrunching. “They probably carry diseases. I think that one has pinkeye.”

Antoine hefts a goat up into his arms, despite the employee’s protest of “Sir- Sir- You can’t actually pick up the—”

“Come on mom,” he says, “give it a kiss.”]

Jemma breathes shakily beside her, her knuckles bone-white from the force with which she’s clenching her hands.

“You’re not in trouble, Jemma,” May says.

Her fists don’t unclench.

“Why didn’t you want Skye to pet the goat?”

“It looked sick,” Jemma explains unevenly. “I think it has pinkeye.”

“Well, that’s a good reason. Did you explain that to her? Or did you just tell her not to?”

Jemma is silent.

“Jemma?”

“I don’t … I don’t mean to be a control freak. I don’t _like_ being that way. But they need someone to keep them in line, or …”

May waits for her to continue, but she doesn’t. “Or what, Jemma?”

Jemma doesn’t have to say it for May to understand. To know that she’s just trying to protect them. Because when you grow up in a system where one mistake can mean being sent back, and often did for them, staying in line can be the only way to keep a home. They may not be comfortable around her yet, but she knows they’re scared of losing her. Or, more to the point, losing each other. They probably would have been split up if May hadn’t taken them in, and she knows Jemma dreads that possibility above all others. She’d do anything to keep them in May’s home, keep them together, even if she doesn’t like who it makes her.

“You’re not the only one protecting them now, Jemma,” May says quietly. “That’s what I’m here for.”

The girl’s fists only seem to clench harder. “Yeah.”

“His name is Crosby!” comes the shout along with the skipping steps of Skye.

Jemma looks away.

“Who is Crosby?” May asks, hesitant to leave the conversation there.

“One of the goats,” Antoine explains, smiling calmly.

“Yeah!” Skye says. She holds up her index finger. “He nibbled my finger.”

“Did it hurt?”

Skye shakes her head. “Nah.”

Fitz’s stomach growls, and he grabs it with both hands, frowning peevishly. “I’m hungry.”

Jemma shoots him a shy smile. “You’re always hungry,” she says, fond, like a peace offering.

He gives her a little smile back.

“Is there a restaurant or food stand nearby?” May asks, aiming the question at Jemma.

Jemma blinks up at her, as if weighing the situation, and then nods.

“Okay,” May says. “Lead the way.”

They stop and eat at the restaurant—the food of which May finds rather disgusting, though the kids don’t seem to have any qualms about it—and then make their way to the small carnivores area. The kids are both delighted and revolted by the capybaras, but are all entranced by the clouded leopards [“That’s you,” Skye says, nudging May and pointing at the sleek, small predator.]. They make their way down to the bears, looking first at the otters, and then at the grizzlies [“No no no,” Skye says, shaking her head and pointing at the mother bear, “ _that’s_ you.”], and then, at the demand of Skye, again at the otters.

Fitz slumps down onto the ground, leaning against the glass wall of the enclosure.

“Are you okay, Fitz?” May asks.

Fitz shrugs. It’s obvious he’s exhausted.

Antoine kicks at Fitz’s sneaker. “Come on, man. I’ll race you to the ostriches.”

“No, you won’t,” May says.

“Okay,” Antoine says easily. “Then how ‘bout a piggyback ride?”

“’M too- uh- too—” Fitz mimes with his hands.

“You’re not too big. Come on, hop on.”

After giving him a dubious up-and-down, Fitz pulls himself up and hops onto Antoine’s back when he crouches. Antoine raises his hand to point.

“Onwards!”

Though it’s clear Antoine is struggling, sweat beading on his forehead, he dutifully carries the other boy through the African Savannah section, past the ostriches and the zebras and the rhinos, up until they get to the cheetahs. May is the one who tells Fitz that that’s enough, because she’s worried Antoine never would have said anything.

“Th-Thanks,” Fitz says, sliding off his back.

Antoine just smiles. “Don’t mention it.”

They head toward the lions, and Jemma starts rattling on about how it’s actually the females who do all the work, while the males generally laze around.

Skye shakes her head. “Typical.”

“My great-grandad actually used to have a pet lion,” Antoine says, puffing up.

“Nuh-uh,” Fitz says.

“It’s true. Well, it wasn’t his _pet_ , but it was his friend. It saved him from an elephant that was trying to trample him, and after that he’d always see it around, and it would never attack him.”

Jemma scrunches her nose. “That sounds fictitious.”

Antoine shrugs. “That’s what my grandma says happened.”

“I think it’s cool,” Skye says, nodding decisively. “I want a pet lion friend.”

“Wh-Why didn’t it- uh—” Fitz claws his hands. “Eat him?”

“My grandma says it was the spirit of his father taking care of him from the afterlife.”

“Well,” Jemma says, mouth stretched into a smile but nose still scrunched. “That’s … sweet.”

“What’s the afterlife?” Skye asks.

“Um—” May says, not sure this is a conversation that needs to be happening.

Fitz wraps his hands around his throat, his tongue popping out the side of his gaped mouth.

“ _Fitz_ ,” Jemma admonishes, giving him a gentle smack on the arm. She glares, then turns to Skye. “It’s where some people believe you go after you die, Skye.”

“Oh,” Skye says, overwhelmed with the world in the way that only six-year-olds and philosophy students can be. And then, very quickly after that, “Look! Cubs!”

Skye grabs Jemma’s hand and pulls them both to the railing. Antoine snickers to himself, sneaking up slowly behind them. He shouts “ _Rwaaa!_ ” at the same time he digs his fingers into their ribcages.

[Antoine snickers, raising his finger to his lips before sneaking up behind Skye and Jemma at the railing of the lion enclosure. Right before he’s about to make contact, Jemma turns around.

“Ha ha,” she intones dryly. “Very funny, Antoine.”]

Both the girls jump, and whip around.

Jemma rolls her eyes. “Very funny, Antoine.”

Antoine laughs.

After they watch the lions, Jemma pulls out the map. “Elephants, then circle back around for the rest?”

The others agree, so they go up to the elephant house. It’s packed, and warm, and smelly, and Fitz looks a little overwhelmed by the crowd.

“Ca-Can I—?” He shoots a thumb back at the door.

“You need to stay where I can see you,” May says.

“How about we just go to the facts corner?” Jemma suggests, and Fitz nods and follows her to the relatively clear space.

Skye hops to try and get a view over the rail.

“Here—” Antoine begins to say, but May shakes her head.

“I’ve got her.”

She props her cane on the railing and crouches down next to Skye, angling her leg so it doesn’t hurt her hip. “Do you mind?” she asks.

Skye looks hesitant, glancing back over to Antoine before slowly holding out her arms. May scoops her up and settles her on her good hip, holding the small girl fairly easily. It’s the closest she’s been to any of the kids since she got them. They hadn’t even given each other a hug.

“Thanks,” Skye says quietly.

When they leave the elephant house, Skye doesn’t ask to be put down, so May continues to carry her as Antoine carries her cane. It’s foreign, domestic, but May doesn’t mind it.

They circle back down past the lions and the jaguars and through the cheetah outpost. When they get to the Somali wild asses, Skye buries her face in May’s neck and laughs and laughs.

The maned wolves are a thing of curiosity for all of the children.

“What _is_ that?” Skye asks.

[“What the fuck is that?” Skye asks.

“Language,” Jemma chides.

“You ask that ev-every time, Skye,” Fitz chuckles.

“And every time, I think to myself, no way that’s a real thing.”

May scrunches her nose. “What’s that smell?”

“It’s the urine,” Jemma replies primly. “It has a very unique odor.”

“It smells like pot,” Antoine says.

May rolls her eyes. “You’re not supposed to know that.”]

“It’s a maned wolf,” Jemma says. “Which isn’t actually a wolf. It’s also called fox-on-stilts, but it’s not a fox either. They’re native to South America.”

Fitz looks on in awe.

It’s been a long day, and all of the kids are flagging by the time they get to the siamangs. Even Fitz’s eyes are drooping as they watch the black monkeys swing around their habitat. Skye is nodding off against May’s shoulder, so May puts her down so she doesn’t fall asleep. They only have the gift shop left, and May wants her to be awake to pick something out.

The gift shop is crowded as people leave the zoo, only a few hours before close. The shop is large, with walls and shelves of stuffed animals, puzzles, knick-knacks, and paintings. The kids all stop as soon as they enter, looking around with wide eyes. May ushers them towards the wall of stuffed animals.

“Well,” she says, “go pick something out.”

Antoine fingers the price tag on a long snake plushie, shooting Jemma an anxious look.

Jemma gives May a smile, tight and nervous. “That’s alright, we don’t need to pick anything out.”

“It’s alright, go ahead.”

Skye scoots behind Fitz. Jemma and Antoine shoot each other another glance, and then look to the floor.

“Okay,” May says, “I’ll pick them out.”

The children look on half in curiosity and half in distress as May carefully combs through her options. She doesn’t think she’s picked out a stuffed animal since she was eight years old, and she’s a little worried about picking wrong, but she has to at least try. Kids are supposed to want toys, and they had come to her with very few. They didn’t have any from previous homes, and Fury, for all his graces, hadn’t exactly been the stuffed animal type.

May remembers being scared of thunderstorms. A lot of kids are, and May was one of them. Her earliest memory isn’t one of her parents, or of ice skating, but rather of her huddling under the covers on her bed, waiting out the storm. Though her father always tried to spoil her, her mother had told her to go back to her own bed, because there was nothing to be afraid of about a thunderstorm if you were indoors. It was just noise, her mother had said, and noise can’t hurt you.

Mellie hadn’t seen it that way. Noise was loud, and loud was scary, and scary made her think of monsters. Even if she wasn’t scared of the noise, who knew what could be hiding out in the storm, just waiting to get her. She knew hiding under the blanket didn’t make her more safe, but to the young girl it certainly felt that way.

The only thing she had to protect her—from the noise and the dark and the monsters lurking within—was her stuffed tiger, Bearcat. She knew, above all else, that he wouldn’t let any harm come to her.

So she wrapped herself around his plush body, closed her eyes, and waited for the storm to break.

[“Moooommm,” Skye coos, skipping up behind her. “Look at this, you have to get this.”

“We don’t need souvenirs—” May is saying, until she turns around.

In Skye’s outstretched hands is a little statue, a tiger, curling its way through a throng of bamboo.

“Oh,” May says.

“It _is_ adorable,” Jemma says, stepping up beside them. “You should get it, Mum. I’ll buy it.”

“I-I thought we said no presents,” Fitz calls, head popping up from behind a shelf.

“If we’re getting Mom a present I’m going in on it, too,” Antoine says.

“I don’t need anything,” May says, waving it away.

“Oh, come on,” Skye whines, “don’t be a spoilsport.”

“I am not being a spoil—”

“Mum said no presents,” Jemma says, motioning her hands with finality. “So we won’t get presents. That’s that.”

“Thank you, Jemma.”

(If the statue somehow ends up on her bookshelf after the next time they visit, she doesn’t call anyone out on it.)]

May pulls down the first stuffed animal from the shelf, and then the second after some thought. The kids watch her with bated breath.

After a few more minutes she makes her final selections. The kids are silent as she goes up to the register and pays, and then follow her out of the shop and to a bench that faces the parking lot. She sets the bags down and pulls out her purchases, handing them off to the children without comment, feeling almost as uneasy as they look.

The children take a moment to survey their mementos.

For Skye, an otter.

For Antoine, a lion.

For Fitz, a gorilla.

For Jemma, an owl.

Antoine is the first to break the silence.

“Thank you,” he says, swallowing thickly.

Fitz nods. “Yeah, th-thanks.”

Jemma takes a shaky breath and pulls the owl to her chest, and then takes Skye’s hand. Skye looks up at Jemma and then at May with a watery smile.

Before she can dwell too long on the reactions, wondering if she messed up, May leads them back to E for Elephant, to the new/old minivan, and they all pile inside. May takes a moment to lean against the headrest and close her eyes. Her body is tired, exhausted really, and she reminds herself that this is only week one. But week one is the hardest, right? That’s what she tells herself.

(Week one is the hardest, she tells herself when Fitz and Jemma are fighting the next day. Week two is the hardest, she tells herself when she finds Skye packing up her worn duffel. Week three is the hardest, she tells herself when Antoine is staying with a friend, again, and doesn’t say anything when she asks him when he’s coming back home. Week N is the hardest, she thinks. This is hard, she thinks. Harder than anything she’s ever done before.)

She opens her eyes at the sound of Skye’s wide yawn, and the other kids’ complaints about how Skye made them yawn too. May leans forward, looking up at the sky from behind the windshield.

“Storm’s coming,” she says, to no one in particular.

She looks in the rear-view mirror at the kids, who all look just about ready to pass out. But they’re all holding on to their stuffed animals, clinging tight. May thinks that maybe she didn’t mess that up after all.

Maybe she didn’t mess this day up after all. Despite her silences, despite feeling like a fish on land the whole time, despite the ever-encroaching sense that she’s just not cut out for this, maybe she didn’t mess it up. Maybe she won’t mess this up. Won’t mess them up. Maybe this won’t be the disaster everyone seems to think it will be.

May doesn’t think she’s good at the mom thing. Not yet.

But she’ll get better. That’s a promise she can make.

[They pile back into the old old minivan, and no one complains when Skye yawns and stretches out across the back row. May leans forward to look at the sky through the windshield, and it’s blue. Deep blue, as far as the eye can see.]

 

~Fin~  

**Author's Note:**

> gosh guys. i don't even know what to say. i've been writing this series for so long that it's definitely going to feel like something is missing now, but the biggest thing im going to miss is you guys and your support of this series. you've encouraged me so much and have made writing this truly a pleasure. i really can't thank you enough for all your enthusiasm and kind words. it's meant so much to me and has really kept me going during times when i haven't been in the best place about my writing. i go back and reread yalls comments and they make me so warm and really brighten up my day 
> 
> so just, thank you. thank you for everything, and i hope you've enjoyed


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